Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
When he was satisfied with his preparation, I watched from the corner of my eye, my heart racing, as Pierre picked up the purple plug. Then I whimpered softly as I felt the cool, blunt tip pressing against my entrance, so much larger than the one I’d worn before. He pushed forward steadily, giving me no chance to resist or hesitate. The stretch was immediate and intense, burning as the widest part breached my tight ring of muscle.
“Breathe through it,” Pierre instructed as I gasped in discomfort. “Accept what your master gives you.”
I sobbed as he continued to press the plug deeper, feeling impossibly full as my body struggled to accommodate the intrusion. When it finally slipped fully inside, my anus closing around the narrower neck, I collapsed forward onto the bed, overwhelmed by sensation.
I felt like a naughty little girl who’d been taught a terrible lesson. The burning in my bottom from the martinet combined with the profound fullness of the plug created a swirling mass of concepts and sensations, all orbiting a hot, central star—the idea of disciplined submission. In that moment of complete vulnerability, with nothing hidden from the man who had claimed every part of me, words spilled from my lips before I could stop them.
“I love you,” I whispered, then froze in horror at my admission.
Pierre’s hand, which had been gently caressing my punished flesh, stilled for a moment. The silence stretched between us, heavy with significance. Then I felt the mattress dip as he leaned over me, his lips brushing against my ear.
“I love you too, Audrey,” he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth I hadn’t heard before.
The words made my heart leap in my chest. I turned my head to look at him, searching his face for any sign of mockery or manipulation. Instead, I found only intense sincerity in his hazel eyes. Something shifted between us in that moment—not erasing the power dynamic that defined our relationship, but somehow deepening it, giving it new dimensions.
“Now,” Pierre said, “You may get up and put your dress on. It’s time to go.”
On the drive from Paris to the Loire, I had terrible trouble sitting still. The seats of Pierre’s Jaguar were luxurious, but my bottom squirmed constantly thanks to the welts from the martinet and the presence of the huge plug. Every bump in the road sent a jolt through my core, making me gasp involuntarily. The leather seat beneath my bare thighs felt decadent and forbidden—nothing between it and my most intimate places except the thin fabric of my sundress.
To distract myself from the constant reminders of my submission, I found myself asking questions about the thing that had been occupying my thoughts more and more.
“Pierre,” I ventured, my voice smaller than I intended, “would you tell me more about the New Modesty?”
He glanced at me, his lips curving into a knowing smile as he returned his attention to the road. “What would you like to know, ma petite?”
I shifted in my seat, wincing as the movement caused the plug to press deeper. “I… I’m curious about it. How it works, what it means for women.” The admission felt strangely naughty, as if by asking, I was acknowledging my interest in something I should rightfully condemn.
“You’re beginning to embrace your curiosity about this,” he observed, his voice warm with approval. “That’s good. The New Modesty isn’t what feminist propaganda has painted it to be. It’s about acknowledging natural hierarchies and finding peace within them.”
I bit my lip, gathering my courage. “How often…” I hesitated, my cheeks burning. “How often do New Modesty brides get punished? And how?”
Pierre’s hand moved from the gearshift to rest on my bare knee, his touch sending electric currents up my thigh. “It depends on the couple, of course,” he replied, his thumb tracing small circles on my skin. “But the New Modesty Authority recommends weekly discipline at minimum. It keeps the relationship balanced.”
I swallowed hard, imagining being turned over Pierre’s knee once a week, my bottom bared for correction. The image shouldn’t have aroused me, but I couldn’t deny the fresh wetness gathering between my thighs.
“As for how,” Pierre continued, his voice dropping to a more intimate register, “the Authority recommends that a husband learn to use his belt properly. The symbolism of removing it from his own clothing to whip his wife helps her take his guidance seriously.”
“What about other implements?” I asked, the words escaping before I could consider how eager I must sound.
Pierre’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Paddles are common for more serious infractions. Wooden ones leave quite an impression. And for the most severe disobedience, a cane might be employed.”
My breath caught at the thought. “Do women get punished… in the nude?” I whispered, barely able to voice the question.
“The Authority recommends it,” Pierre confirmed, his hand sliding slightly higher on my thigh. “Punishment in the nude increases the wife’s shame at her misconduct. The vulnerability of being completely exposed while receiving discipline creates a powerful psychological effect.”